


Weapons to Destroy Us

by alatariel_gildaen



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, IT'S ME, X-men Inspired, let's be real, probable smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alatariel_gildaen/pseuds/alatariel_gildaen
Summary: "Every few hundred millenia, evolution leaps forward."The year is 1987, and mutants are still no closer to being accepted, with many either hiding their powers entirely, or turning to crime just to survive.While on the run, Daryl finds Carol; possibly the only person in the world who may be able to help him deal with his own destructive power.





	1. Chapter 1

Tobacco smoke hung thickly in the air, obscuring most of the bar's patrons from view. Daryl Dixon raised the glass bottle of not-quite-cold beer to his lips and took a measured sip, before placing it back down on the filthy wooden table.

The bar's door swung open, bringing with it a gust of hot, summer air that did nothing to alleviate the stifling heat in the bar, and Daryl looked up briefly to spare a glance to the man who entered. A nondescript guy of about his own age. Daryl watched him for a few seconds before returning his attention to his beer and lighting a cigarette of his own to add to the thick smog.

The bar was exactly the kind of dive he would expect to find his brother frequenting, and if his careful investigations proved true, Merle had been spotted in the area recently. Of course, Daryl hadn't wanted to probe _too_ deeply. Drawing attention to himself was never a good idea. Especially given his...current circumstances. But he was so damn fed up of being so entirely alone in the world, and if one person could understand how Daryl felt, surely that person was Merle.

The television behind the bar showed a news report about a group of renegade mutants using their powers to rob a bank. Daryl's interest piqued; he tried to arrange his features so that anyone looking at him would think he was as disgusted by the abuse of power that some mutants were showing as any other patron, but secretly he looked for any clues that Merle may have been involved. The footage showed that half the building had been left in wreckage, and the reporter remarked that it was a miracle there had been no casualties. On top of that, it described that due to the quick thinking of bank staff, and fast response by the police, the mutants involved escaped with only around fifteen thousand dollars. However, the news report gave no specific details as to the types of abilities the mutants displayed, and so, with a slightly annoyed huff, he gave up on the report. He'd simply have to scope the area out for himself later and look for any clues.

Damn, though. He hoped to God that Merle wasn't getting involved in anything _too_ criminal. It had been hard enough when they were little kids, and Merle got into constant trouble fighting, shoplifting, vandalizing… If he was now getting involved in more organized crime _and_ helping cement the feeling of animosity towards mutants, Daryl would have to kick his ass. Or at least, try to.

A suited man entered the bar, and Daryl's heart rate picked up for just a moment at the sight of the official-looking person. He plucked nervously at the edge of his sleeve, ensuring that the mark on his arm—currently hidden by his clothing—remained hidden. But after a second the man walked to the bar and ordered a beer, taking it off to a shadowy corner of the bar. Yet another lost soul.

The bar door opened once again, allowing a bright ray of sunshine to penetrate the thick fug of smoke. It threw a white scar on the back of his hand into sharp relief. Daryl stared at the scar for a while, unsure of what particular incident had caused it. He was covered in them, after all.

But he could remember how he had received his first ones, before his powers first began to manifest. He took another sip of beer and pushed those dark memories away, recalling the moment he realized he was a mutant instead.

He had been thirteen at the time. Merle had already been kicked out of home, leaving Daryl alone with their mutant-hating father, who would vary between spouting a never-ending stream of vitriol about Merle, to pretending that his other son simply didn't exist.

Daryl lived on constant tenterhooks, praying that he would never do anything to incur his father's wrath. Praying even harder that he wouldn't turn out to be a mutant himself. He remembered the terrible, sinking sense of dread he had experienced one night when he had accidentally burned their dinner. In his abject fury, his father had struck him several times. Even harder than usual. Daryl had fallen to the floor, but when his father tried to pick him up so that he could strike him again, he had experienced a pain so terrible that he thought he was dying. And as he screamed with the pain, his father had screamed too.

He remembered the blood. He remembered the hospital. He remembered experiencing the pain a second time when the doctors tried to help him. More blood. Being thrown a needle and thread after being told that the doctors could not help him, and he that would have to sew himself up.

Thankfully, as he grew older and his powers grew and developed, he began to heal almost instantly each time his power manifested, but as a teenager, he became quite proficient at giving himself stitches.

Of course, his father had thrown him out of the house that first day. He had lived on the streets and squatted with a group of other homeless mutants until he finally found his brother. And together they had earned what little money they could and stolen the rest. Never enough to draw too much attention. In fact, in the days before the Mutant Registration Programme, Daryl would have happily taken a steady job if he could, but the restrictions imposed on mutants meant that many had turned to petty crime to survive. And if the current news trends were anything to go by, it looked like some were moving on to major crime.

Several years ago, he and Merle had parted ways once more after Merle had used a little too much force during a robbery. Daryl glanced back at the television, at the wrecked skeleton of the bank. A part of him didn't care. He was angry enough at the world to feel that the world deserved whatever it got. But individual people getting hurt? No. He would never be angry enough to harm someone who didn't deserve it. Merle on the other hand…. Merle was exactly the type to take revenge against the world that had shunned him. Another reason for Daryl to try and find him, to reconcile with him, before his brother got into serious trouble. Or made life even harder for the rest of the mutant population, already living on the fringe of society.

The nondescript man who had entered earlier came and sat at Daryl's table uninvited. Daryl glared at him for a moment, annoyed that this man was disturbing his vigil, but almost immediately, he couldn't remember why he was annoyed.

"Give me your wallet," said the man without any preamble.

He felt a strange urge to reach into his pocket and hand the ancient, battered leather wallet to his companion. _Companion?_ he thought hazily. _He must be. Can't remember his name though…_

"Why?" he asked, fighting desperately through the baffling fog that seemed to cloud his mind.

"Because I said so," replied the man, leaning forward very slightly.

Once again, Daryl felt the bizarre compulsion to hand over his wallet. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to ignore the man's instructions. His hand hovered awkwardly in mid air, halfway between his beer bottle and his jeans, just as the man reached for his hand.

It was the sudden wake-up call he needed. Daryl snatched his hand away from the man in a panic. "Don't touch me," he hissed, as his heart pounded painfully in his throat. If he'd been a split second slower, and that man had touched him, there was no way he could continue to wait here on the off-chance of finding his brother. He'd most likely be driven out of the entire town.

"Calm down," said the man, and immediately Daryl felt the rage and panic dissipating. "And give me your hand. My... _gift_...works on most people without contact, but some people need just that little extra push."

The man's voice was as smooth as silk, and despite Daryl's misgivings, his words made sense. Of _course_ the man's powers would work better through physical contact. It was silly of him to try and resist. Daryl placed his hand, palm down, on the sticky wooden table. He watched passively as the man reached for him, wrapping his fingers almost lovingly around Daryl's wrist.

The effect was instantaneous. Both of them howled with pain, as they looked with horror at the foot long, bloodied white spike that had grown suddenly from Daryl's arm, and that pierced the other man's hand.

Daryl yanked his hand away with a sudden twisting movement, grimacing with pain as the spike—rapidly formed from his own bone—snapped away, leaving an open wound on the back of his arm. A small piece of fractured bone was still visible protruding from the wound. _Dammit,_ he thought. He'd broken the spike away prematurely, which would stop it from healing properly. Trying not to think about how much this was going to hurt, Daryl quickly reached inside the open wound and pinched his fingers tightly around the broken part, pulling hard. A piece of bone the size of a shark's tooth came away in his fingers and Daryl threw it to the ground as the skin and flesh began to pull back together, leaving a fresh, shiny white scar on his arm.

But his own physical pain was not the worst of it. He had drawn the attention of every single person in the bar. Someone may have already called the authorities. They stared at him, some showing fear on their faces while others showed disgust. The barman had reached behind the counter and now pointed a shotgun straight at him. "You ain't welcome here, mutant. Get the hell out of my bar. You got ten seconds."

Daryl froze for a moment, his gaze flitting between the mutant who had tried to rob him, who now sat before him whimpering and clutching at his bloody and mutilated hand, and the bar owner pointing a gun at him. In silence he downed the remainder of his beer, then walked straight to the bar. The barman raised his gun higher but still backed away a little in fear. Daryl flashed him one disdainful look before he reached over the bar and snatched a cloth, quickly wiping the blood away from his arm and hands, before he stormed back out into the Georgia heat.


	2. A Late Bloomer

Carol Peletier watched with familial pride as Hershel Greene gently, almost lovingly, ran his fingers over the rich soil. A tiny green bud poked its way up, breaking the surface of the dark earth, and it continued to grow, to wind its way up the wooden trellis beside it. Thick, green leaves branched away from the main stalk, and star shaped yellow flowers blossomed, giving way moments later to tiny, round, green orbs, which grew in size and turned a rich, bright red.

Hershel smiled at the tomato crop before glancing back up towards Carol. "Going to be a good harvest this year," he said.

"Like it could be anything else with you tending to it," replied Carol.

Hershel chuckled lightly, then climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt away from his hands. The barest hint of sadness glinted within his kindly eyes, and his thoughts rang loud and clear in Carol's mind. The fear for his children growing up in a world of prejudice. That one day someone would discover the secret behind his seemingly perfect farm, and take it all away. That they would separate him from his kids, his daughter from his son-in-law, sibling from sibling. That they would be forced to live on the streets as criminals, or worse, spirited away by the Government and experimented on.

Carol didn't blame Hershel one bit for his worries. If anyone found out Hershel was a mutant, his business would be ruined. There was no way that anyone would want to buy produce from him, _especially_ when said produce was grown to perfection using his powers. The peaceful existence that he had built would be gone in an instant.

"No one's going to find out," Carol said, gazing down at the freshly grown tomato plant.

Hershel glanced sideways towards Carol, one eyebrow slightly raised. He had also come to think of Carol as his own daughter, and Sophia as his granddaughter. He worried for their safety as much as he did his own kin.

"Thank you," said Carol, touched by the sentiment, before turning a deep shade of red. "I'm sorry, Hershel. I didn't mean to…"

"It's ok," he chuckled. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

Together they began to walk back towards the farmhouse. In the distance she could see Sophia sat on the porch swing, reading a book. Sophia had not yet shown any kind of mutation but the chances of her being a mutant were high, given that both of her parents were. A huge part of Carol hoped that her daughter escape the burden of mutation, and that she would just lead an ordinary life. But if she was a mutant, Carol wanted to know that her daughter would be prepared.

There was a particular subject that she had broached with Hershel in the past, and that he had originally shot down immediately. But Carol knew that it was a good idea in the long run, if only she could get Hershel to agree.

"Have you given any more thought to it?" Carol asked Hershel out of politeness, already knowing what answer he would give.

"To the idea of a school?" he asked. Carol nodded. "I've thought about it," he said, before adding in a firmer tone, "and I'm still thinking about it."

"We could find people to help protect us here," said Carol.

"And how are we going to pay this hired protection, Carol?" asked Hershel. "You think I'm going to have time to tend the farm, head out to markets, _and_ teach a bunch of kids who haven't yet got full control of their powers?" He chuckled a little sadly. "I agree that it's a good idea. In principle. Practically, I just don't see it working. Besides," he added. "This is my home. Always has been. And turning it into a home for wayward mutants… it's going to bring a whole world of trouble down on our heads."

"It could," said Carol. "Or it could change the world. Show everyone that we don't need to be feared."

"Who else is going to teach them?" asked Hershel. "Glenn? _Maggie?_ She can barely control her own powers. If you weren't suppressing her half the time, I doubt we'd still have a roof over our head."

"Then we start with her as our first pupil. And Beth too. And Sophia once...if...she shows any. You can't object to us at least trying to hone our teaching skills on our own family."

Hershel looked at her long and hard, before turning away and gazing back across his luscious green fields. Carol could sense his inner turmoil, and how his feelings were leaning more towards agreeing, and tried to keep her smile hidden.

"Just our family," he said eventually. "And if it works….we'll see."

"Thank you, Hershel," she replied. "We should start with Maggie. She's the one I'm suppressing the most. I think she'll be surprised by just what she can do, once she's learned full control."

He flashed her a wary look, and his thoughts rang loud and clear in her mind. _Don't make me regret this_.

"I won't," she promised.

Hershel nodded briefly and went indoors, while Carol walked over to the porch swing and sat beside her daughter. "Hey , baby girl," she said.

"I'm not a baby, mom," said Sophia, pausing long enough in her reading to roll her eyes.

"No, you're not," smiled Carol. "But even when you're fifty, you'll always be my little girl."

Sophia sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically once more, before burying her nose back in her book.

Carol sat back in the porch swing and gazed out over the land. It certainly was idyllic, and the nine years that she had spent living here had been the happiest of her life. It had been a long, difficult journey that had led her to living with the Greenes; she had met Ed Peletier when she was a young woman, when the mutant phenomenon was only just beginning to manifest. And Carol had wondered if he was the only other person in the world like her. And despite his occasionally short temper, he had been charming, in his own way. He could grow a rock-like skin, and used to joke that no one would ever want something so ugly and tainted.

Carol had fallen for his act hook, line, and sinker. Only after they were married did he begin to show his true colors, and she soon found out that being hit with a fist made of rock was infinitely worse than being struck with a fist of flesh. She spent all her energy suppressing his powers to the point of him being a regular human, but it did not stop his anger.

She took Sophia, aged just three at the time, and ran from home. Alone, exhausted, dehydrated, bruised, and terrified, she had stumbled onto Hershel's property and he had taken her in, temporarily at first, to let her rest. And that night, Maggie, who was fourteen at the time, first showed her powers. She had almost burned the house to the ground. If Carol hadn't immediately begun to suppress her, she probably would have.

And so Hershel invited Carol and Sophia to stay. Through purely selfish reasons to start with, although over the years he had very obviously come to care for them.

But despite Hershel's kindness, he was far too trapped in his fear of the outside world. Yes, things were bad for people like them. But hiding away on his farm, acting like they were no different from anyone else… that dream would one day be shattered. And Carol wouldn't be there forever to dampen down his children's latent powers. Far better to help them hone their skills to survive on their own.

And there was no time like the present. With a little smile to herself, Carol pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Sophia's head, ignoring her daughter's irritated huff, and leaned in through the open window behind them.

"Maggie?" she called. "Can you come out here? There's something we need to talk about."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave feedback if you like what you read!


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